


Short, Fast, and Loud

by omegalomaniac_love



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Band, Fluff, Football, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omegalomaniac_love/pseuds/omegalomaniac_love
Summary: Patrick is a 'punk'. Percieved as one of the biggest assholes in the school, he prefers spending time behind his drumset rather than socializing.Pete is a jock. Energetic and athletic, hes a kicker on the football team and the captain of the soccer team.Pete likes Patrick. Patrick falls for Pete.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Sports were never Patrick's 'thing'. He was uncoordinated, unathletic, and overall hated the culture of high school sports. Despite the many attempts his mom had taken to get him into the extra cirriculars, he refused to attend tryouts, instead opting to spend time playing drums in the band room. He enjoyed his solitude- it wasn't like people wanted to talk to him anyway. After what many of his peers fondly refer to as 'the mr price homeroom incident' freshman year, people tended to stay away from him. Once again, something he definitely didn't mind. People finding him intimidating enough to not interact with him was a thousand times better than getting bullied.

Either way, these things didn't prevent his mom from once again trying to get him to hang out with people. She took it upon herself to take him to a home football game, dragging him behind her through the gates and to the bleachers. It was frankly embarrassing- he was seventeen, a high school junior, tailing behind his mom at a football game trying to avoid any and all eye contact from the people around him. It wasn't like Patrick didn't have friends- he had a few of the band kids he trusted. The only problem with that is all of them were in the marching band, meaning they were busy playing fight songs at the end zone rather than being available to save him from his mother.

One side effect of Patrick's social isolation was that he didn't really know anyone in his school aside from those band friends. He knew names and vaguely knew faces, but didn't know anything about anyone. Scanning the football players, both on the field and on the bench, he recognized a few of the names. Saporta- his sister was the president of the pep club, if the name actually meant that relation. McCoy- he was one of the kids on the video announcements, right? Probably. Sometimes it felt like Patrick was an NPC in a video game being played by everyone else- not important to them unless they need something. Nobody's quests had led them to interacting with him quite yet.

The home team ends up winning by a landslide, and everyone starts cheering. Patrick, again, was barely invested in the game to begin with, so he silently watched as everyone celebrated. It was obvious they were going to win anyway- the kicker- a kid named Wentz- had gotten every extra point available to them. He was good, much better than the other team's, who only scored one kick out of all of the ones he attempted.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit invested. It didn't hurt that it was at least slightly entertaining to watch a bunch of jocks pummel each other.

As his mom started to lead their way out, she got stopped by a friend (of course!) who proceeded to strike up a conversation. A conversation about him.

So he walked away.

Patrick wandered over to the fence, getting just far enough out of ear shot and pulling out his phone to distract himself from the undoubtedly embarrassing things his mother was disclosing to her friend. He leaned against it, leaning his free arm against the metal pole lining the top of it. The noise of the crowd muffled in his ears as he focused his attention to his instagram feed, as he knew this would likely be the best way to pass the time since his mom made him leave his headphones at home.

A sudden jolt of the fence brought Patrick back to reality, and he whipped around, initially under the impression that someone had been thrown against, or at least fallen against, the fence. There was just one player standing there, fingers laced into the chain links, the metal still slightly jiggling in his grip.

The number on his chest was 13, and Patrick recognized that as the kicker's number.

Wentz.

"What?" He asked, voice rushed and shaking slightly from the near panic attack the sudden movement and noise caused hum.

"Aren't you in jazz band?"

Patrick blinked at him, giving a slow nod to the straightforward question to receive a wide, bright smile.

"My brother's in jazz band! He plays trumpet."

"Cool," he replied deadpan, turning back away from the fence, assuming an end to the conversation.

"He says you're really talented on the drums," Wentz continued, causing Patrick to internally groan. This wasn't something he was used to, so of course he wouldn't want to take kindly to it.

"Thanks?"

"It'd be cool to see you play sometime."

Patrick blinked slowly to prevent himself from rolling his eyes too obviously. He wasn't sure what this kid's motive was behind all of this, but it was once again something so strange and unusual to him that he wanted to get out as soon as possible.

"Concert's next thursday," he said simply, not even returning eye contact. "Wouldn't you know that since your brother's in it?"

While not even looking, Patrick could tell by the following silence he was probably a bit too harsh in his delivery. Then again, he was used to feeling like an asshole. Hell, he dressed like an asshole- chains and all. Everyone treated him like an asshole. It was just the way this high school environment worked.

Pushing off the fence, the player returned much less enthusiastically, "guess I'll see you then," before walking back towards his team.

Patrick silently took a breath, collecting himself as he saw his mom turn towards him and start walking down the bleachers again. If she had witnessed that interaction she most definitely would have commented something along the lines of him being rude. Which yes, he was. But again, he didn't care about being rude to people he was used to being used by, which included practically everyone in his grade.

They left pretty quickly, and Patrick didn't turn to see that Wentz kid still looking at him from across the field.

…

The week drags by painstakingly slow. Class after class feels like a total waste of time, but when jazz band practice rolls around Tuesday afternoon, Patrick finds himself searching the trumpet players in the room. There's only three, so it's not difficult to find the one who looks genetically related to the football player.

The kid must have seen him looking, because he offers a small wave in his direction. Patrick almost immediately shuts down, looking to the drum kit and playing out a random beat.

What did that kid know that Patrick didn't?

He didn't want to think about it.

Thursday night he still didn't want to think about it, but he found that it had completely taken over his mind. Was Wentz actually going to be there? Of course, his brother was in the band. Was he going to remember how much of an ass Patrick was to him at the football game? That was debatable. Patrick didn't think of himself as a very memorable person, and maybe the interaction was short enough to escape the other boy's mind.

The biggest question, however, was why was he so concerned about what a stupid football player thought of him? 

That question was partially answered when he walked out of the band room and into the cafeteria at the end of the concert, where Wentz stood in a school sweatshirt with his brother, immediately meeting his eyes and giving the widest grin he's ever seen a teenager give. The smile grew impossibly wider as Patrick sheepishly made his way towards them, and his question of whether or not the initial interaction was going to be held over him went out the window.

"You dress up real nice," Wentz commented, motioning towards his dress shirt and bowtie. and his brother immediately rolled his eyes.

"There's kind of a dress code for these things," he replied snarkily, making an attempt to still keep it light and friendly.

"Yet you're still allowed to wear a lip ring?"

"I'm gonna go find mom," the younger Wentz said quickly, walking off into the sea of parents sitting and standing amongst the tables as Patrick absently chewed on the piece of metal.

Once he had disappeared into the crowd, attention was focused back on Patrick.

"Is Andrew this irritating in band?" He quickly asked, smile returning to his face.

"Are you this irritating to him?" Patrick returned with a small smile that just made the other boy light up brighter.

"Only when I'm trying to get info on cute boys, Patrick."

Oh. *Oh*. Patrick's face remained frozen in that smile, mouth parted just slightly as the realization rushed into his mind. 'Oh, he's flirting with me. I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot.'

He rushed to come up with a good response. "Do I have to be just as irritating to get your first name, Wentz?"

"Only if you want," he said, winking and extending a hand. "Peter- or Pete, whatever you want to call me."

Patrick looked at the ground, shifting on his feet awkwardly. Another situation that has never happened to him before. Well, not a situation where he realized that it was happening. "So did you like the concert?"

"Yeah," Pete perked up again, "you really are great at that- Drumming, I mean."

"Guess I just have fast hands," he shrugged, and Pete nearly burst out laughing. Patrick looked at him quizzically, "What's so funny?"

Pete covered his face with one hand as he struggled to keep himself together. "Nothing," he blurted, folding his free arm over his chest, still trying to suppress it.

"No, really-" Patrick said again, confused. "I don't get it?"

The other boy shook his head, waving a hand towards Patrick. "You know what, you don't need to know."

Patrick huffed. "Why not?"

"Its a sex thing, 'Trick. If you don't get it you really don't need to."

He felt his face flush. He felt like he was making a complete idiot of himself by this, but the nickname was enough to divert his thoughts. He stood in silence waiting for Pete to stop coughing on his own humor long enough to actually breathe, and when his hand landed on Patrick's shoulder it was enough to bring their eyes together.

"Point is-" Pete started, composing himself, "can I have your number?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait, no. He's not in love with Pete. It's a crush. A small crush on a cute jock. A cute jock that has been endlessly flirting with him over text and sending various pictures of opossums and puppies over the past few days. That wasn't something that was making him fall hopelessly in love.

That Friday, Patrick went out of his way to actually go to the football game. It was an away game, only about ten minutes away, so it wasn't hard to convince his mom to let him go. Not to mention, he told her that he was going with a friend. Of course, if he actually told her the truth that he was falling in love with a football player? He would never hear the end of it, and he didn't know if it was good or bad.

Wait, no. He's not in love with Pete. It's a crush. A small crush on a cute jock. A cute jock that has been endlessly flirting with him over text and sending various pictures of opossums and puppies over the past few days. That wasn't something that was making him fall hopelessly in love.

That wasn't what persuaded him to attend an away game at the rival high school. To pay the ticket price to said rival school and sit in the bleachers behind his own school's paint crew, an obnoxious group of teenagers who enjoy running around in forty-five degree weather in nothing but shorts and a layer of cracking body paint in whatever color fit the theme of the week. Patrick was bundled up in a sweatshirt, which wasn't even enough for him as the sun disappeared and he cupped both hands around his cup of hot cocoa.

He watched intently as the players ran around the field, picking up more and more about how the game worked as it went on. He was sure Pete could explain it to him, but he didn't want to feel like a total idiot if it ever got brought up in conversation. By the time the game ended- and Pete's team celebrated another win- Patrick had made his way down to the fence. Pete greeted him with a smile as he ran over, jumping and sticking his feet in the holes of the wire to lean over.

"Hey," he said as Pete jumped back down, nearly losing his balance from excitement.

The other boy paused, looking at Patrick's shivering arms wrapped around his torso. "You cold?"

"No shit, dumbass," he laughed, hoping it didn't come across harshly. "Yeah, I'm cold."

"Gimmie a sec," Pete replied, turning around and sprinting towards the bench. He returned with his letterman jacket, coming through the gate just a few steps to Patrick's right and joining him in the spectator side. He held out the jacket in front of him with both hands like a bouquet of flowers, an offering that seemed to hold so much care. Patrick unraveled his arms to receive the gift, snaking them through the sleeves as Pete pulled the jacket around him, closing the snaps down the front.

Pete looked at him silently, hands lingering on the top snap before leaving the faux leather to return to his sides.

"Do you- wanna go get food?" Patrick let out after a moment, "I know it's kind of late, but I didn't get anything on the way here and didn't want to pay for concessions-"

"It's Friday," the other boy shrugged, "I'll just go tell coach I won't be riding the bus home."

Patrick silently nodded with a small smile, watching as Pete ran towards the group of football players, running around and tapping his coach on the shoulder to get his attention. When he returned he was still beaming. Patrick couldn't tell if he was still reveling in the afterglow of the team's victory or what, but it warmed Patrick up inside to see him so happy.

They made their way to Patrick's car, escaping the bright stadium lights to the dimmer street lights of the parking lot. The school had obviously put more care into the football field than anything around it, as the light directly above Patrick's car flickered. Pete practically ran to the passenger side of the car as it was unlocked, sliding in and looking over to the drivers side to watch Patrick follow suit.

Patrick sat in, turning the key in the ignition to start the car, sighing with relief as air started blasting from the vents. It wasn't quite warm yet, but it was a sure sign of relief to come. Plus, Pete's jacket was doing a nice job of keeping off the cold.

It was truly embarassing how much he was internally freaking out about that. About wearing Pete's jacket, that is. About having Pete sitting next to him in the car, rambling about the game. He adjusted his glasses, looking at himself in the rear view mirror subconciously, just to check.

"You look cute," Pete said, seemingly affirming his thoughts, but Patrick wasn't going to let him know that.

"I'm not cute," he retorted, reaching to plug his phone into the aux chord and putting his music on shuffle.

"Elton John? Cute."

Patrick turned to him with forced anger. He was blushing, he could feel it, but he knew his cheeks had already been read from the temperature. "Thats not- thats a one off, I listen to rock!"

"Yeah, Crocodile Rock-"

He groaned, pressing the skip button. "See? Blink-182. That's rock."

"I'd consider them more pop-punk-"

"You are so infuriating."

Pete tilted his head to one side, letting a smile slip farther across his lips. "You're the one who invited me."

"Shut up," Patrick replied, fighting against a smile as he put the car in drive. "Where do you wanna go?"

They ended up landing at a gas station that has a drive thru. Some of the band kids had ended up there after the game let out, something pretty common in their school that Patrick had just never partaken in. Pete told him they had great fries, though.

"I swear, they're better than McDonalds," he said, "and with the mac n cheese-"

"Alright," Patrick rolled his eyes, pressing the order into the touchscreen. Not having to list the order out loud to an actual person was a definite plus, which is something he saw that would be appealing to teenagers. When the order actually did come through the window- Pete's recommendation of fries, mac and cheese, and yet another hot chocolate for Patrick with a duplicate order for himself- Patrick parked the car in a far corner of the parking lot. There were too many people there that might try to have an interaction with him and that was definitely not something he would be looking forward to.

"You just had to pick the darkest corner of the parking lot, didnt you?" Pete asked rhetorically as he tapped on the overhead light.

"How else am I expected to play out my plot to murder you?" Patrick smirked, and Pete revelled in what the dim light showed. It was at just the right angle that it gleamed on each of his piercings, casting flattering shadows around his face, and gave his eyes a warm glow.

Patrick noticed how Petes eyes lingered on him, but he had exhausted all of his confidence that day. He wasn't going to mention it. Especially not when the tempting aroma of gas station drive thru fries was calling to him.

Pete was right. They were damn good fries. All the warm food was exactly what Patrick needed after sitting out in the cold for so long.

"What do your parents think about your piercings?" Pete asked, breaking what little silence there was as ac/dc played from the speakers.

"What?"

"My parents would kill me if I got a lip piercing. Like, did you get in trouble for it?"

Patrick shook his head. "My mom took me to get it at a tattoo shop."

The other boy's eyes widened. "Your mom. Took you to a tattoo shop. To get a lip piercing?"

He shrugged, "I had been bothering her about it for months, she figured it was better to take me to get it than risk me trying to do it myself or something stupid like that."

"What did your dad think?"

"He lives in California, he doesn't care about anything I do."

Petes face dropped. "Im sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Patrick reassured. "I haven't seen him in years. He means nothing to me."

Pete bit the inside of his cheek, and Patrick decided to drown out the impending awkward silence by turning his music back up. Of course, of all things, Paramore's The Only Exception was what was playing. He didn't have the willpower to skip it, so instead he sat through it, thinking about everything. Yeah, his parents hated each other. Yeah, he would always side with his mom because his dad was the one who always caused problems. But that didn't mean he had to be completely and utterly disenchanted with the idea of love. It didn't mean he had to be married to the idea of loneliness in the fear of heartbreak.

He could let himself have a little bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another part! And there will be more, just not exactly sure how many. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow first thing im posting on here ok i hope you like it???


End file.
